Pale Faces
by gayfag12345
Summary: Stan has been in love with his oblivious best friend for years, but it suddenly becomes too much for him when Kyle finds a new love interest. Stan's depression peaks and he can't manage any longer. Angst. Kyle/Kenny. Stan/Kyle.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not all dicks get hard when the owner of said dick dies.

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><p>KYLE<p>

"Kyyyyleeee," my mother's nasally voice sings from downstairs. I roll over in my bed, catching a glimpse of the clock.

"WHAT?" I shout, too lazy to get up, "Nine in the fuckin' morning, mom," I growl quietly. It is a Saturday. Today was made for sleeping in and she chooses to take the sanctity of weekends away.

She continues to yell my name, even though I know she can hear my responses. I finally manage to roll myself out of bed and stumble to the door and down the staircase.

"What?" I groan, exasperated and rubbing the back of my head.

She bustles over to me, nitpicking my appearance and altogether forgetting what she woke me up for, "Bubley, why don't you brush your hair," and, "Far too tall to be slouching like that."

I sigh deeply, "I just woke up, Mom. What did you want?"

She grumbles something about talking to your mother that way but then turns back to the counter and began shuffling around her receipts. She keeps tabs of every purchase anyone in this family makes. Cliché.

"Your job interview is today," she informs me. Shit. How could I have forgotten? The new Target is hiring. I spin and sprinted up the stairs, grabbing my slacks, button-up, and loafers. I throw everything on and attempt to tame my fro, to no avail. I look ridiculous, I think as I stop in front of my full-length mirror, like a child someone dressed up to take a picture for their customized family thank you card.

As I hop in the car and turn the keys a bloop from my phone catches my attention. A text message from Stan. I flip the phone over on the passenger car seat knowing that if I didn't I would be tempted to look while I was driving. I take off and make my way to the shopping center.

…

"And what qualifies you to be a good candidate for this job?" The man with the stooped shoulder, developing unibrow, and beer belly asks me as his beady eyes staredirectly into my soul.

"Well, Sir," I begin, "I am a hardworker and I have been my whole life. I set goals and I achieve them; I believe in honesty, integrity, and perseverance. I have worked my whole life - since I was a child I volunteered and until last year I was in band and never missed a single practice. I believe I deserve this job because I know I will contribute to the Target team and I will certainly try my hardest."

Decoded: 'Ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, bullshit sprinkled on the top.'

"Thank you, Mr. Broflovski," The gruff man says, "We will call you within the week."

"Thank you, Sir," I shake his hand, flash a grin, and walk out of the store. Holy shit, I think I just got my first fucking job.

Oh right, I completely forgot about Stan. I grab my phone and check my messages sitting in the front seat of my sedan.

Stan (9:16 AM): Hey

Stan (9:25 AM): Kyle

Stan (9:31 AM): Dude

Stan (9:44 AM): Message me back.

Confused, I type back, "What's up?" Almost immediately I receive a response in the form of a phone call.

"Stan?" I ask, somewhat nervous, as I pick up the phone.

"Kyle," is all Stan says in return.

"What's going on, dude?" I ask.

"Can you come over?"

"I guess?"

"Okay." Click.

What the fuck? I toss my phone into my pocket and take off towards Stan's. He completely confused me with his behavior so I figure I should get over there as soon as possible and make sure everything is okay.

When I arrive, I wipe off my shoes on the doormat and ring the doorbell. As if automatically, the door opens and Stan stands in front of me. "Hey," I say. He smiles cautiously and gestures for me to follow him. I stomp up the stairs behind the raven-haired boy. Stan looks very similar to how he did when he was a child. He still has that dark head of hair but it is shaved on the sides like a mohawk. He also has gauges in his ears and a perpetual look of exhaustion in his eyes. One was on purpose, the other was not.

"Dude, seriously, what's going on?" I'm a mix between anxious and irritated. I hate when people evade my questions.

Stan fidgets and sits awkwardly in his desk's chair, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin as he picks at his arm, "Um, I have to tell you something, Kyle," he mumbles. He breathes in deeply, "Kyle. I'm. I'm gay." He looks down pointedly, refusing to meet my eyes, face cherry red and tears visibly collecting in the corners of his eyes.

"Stan." I say gently, moving forward, and resting my hand on his upper back, "You know I am totally okay with that," I tell him, knowing that he is vulnerable and scared, "I accept you no matter what."

Stan looks up, scared like a small animal, "No matter what?"

I nod. "Even if you fucked corpses, man."

Stan grinned, "That's good because I've got something else to tell you."

I hit him hard on the back and laugh, "Did you know you get a boner when you die?"

"No you don't."

"Yeah, for real. When you get all stiff so does your dick."

"Stanley!" Stan's mother scolds from outside the door. Whoops, didn't realize she was there. Stan appears to be panicking, wondering how long she had been there.

"It's okay," I mouth.

STAN

Kyle's gone now. We played video games for a few hours before he left and everything was normal. I don't know why I thought something so trivial could jeopardize our friendship. Kyle is the most level-headed guy I know. Why am I acting so ridiculous? I am embarrassed now. Of course, he doesn't know the second half of what I told him. The part I hate to admit. The one I attempt to hide even from myself. Kyle doesn't know that I am in love with him. And I have been for years. He doesn't know how I look at him or dream about him or want to be with him. He couldn't know, because it would change everything about our friendship.

I wipe a tear from my eye. Kyle is wonderful - I mean, he reacted the way you would want anyone to react of course, but what I really wanted, really hoped, was that he would light up, laugh, and shake his head like he couldn't believe it and then say, "Dude, no way. Me too."

But, Kyle didn't light up, Kyle didn't come out, and Kyle isn't my boyfriend. So here I sit in the darkness of my room, hoping to find someone else to distract me from the pain.

I bite my lip and curl up in my blankets. Maybe if I drink enough Nyquil I'll fall into a coma. I take a swig directly from the bottle and throw it back onto my nightstand. It falls on the ground and spills everywhere.

I'm sobbing.

…

The first bell of the day rings. I groan inwardly. Another _beautiful day_ at South Park High School. I make my way to first period - all of my classes are the bare minimum to pass. I begrudgingly move towards the pod which contains the science classes. First I have chemistry. A sophomore class for this senior. And better yet, I have a D in the class. Nice one, Stan, I think to myself.

I pull out my chair and plop down next to a large mass of lard, also known as Eric Cartman.

"Hey, fag," he greets me. I grin mockingly.

The teacher passes out a test I was unaware of. I lay my head on the table and squint at Cartman's answers. Suddenly, I realize what I'm doing. I plant my face into the desk. I'm cheating off of Eric Cartman. A new low has been reached.

By lunch, I'm exhausted - I rest my head on my fist at the table.

"I understand that not all Muslims are terrorists; all I'm saying is that all terrorists are,"

"Say more one more fucking word, fat ass," Kyle hisses, stabbing his fork down into his mystery meat and glaring straight into the fat boy's eyes.

"Well, you see maybe if you hadn't interrupted me, Kahl," he begins slowly, as though explaining this in a completely friendly manner, "I would be able to have finished my sentence and tell you that all terrorists are Muslims."

Kyle shouts and his leg shoots up, aiming directly for Cartman's crotch.

But Cartman was too slow. In the next second, he was rolling over on the cafeteria floor, cussing out Kyle, and gagging. I can't help but laugh. Seeing Cartman in pain can cheer up just about anyone but himself.

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><p>Alright, so I don't want to spoil but I have a lot of ideas for this fic and I don't know exactly where I'm going with it but I can promise you a lot of angst. RnR no flames bc I'm a sensitive flower or sum bullshit of the like.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Bullying kills.

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><p>KYLE<p>

"Kinny," Cartman whines, "You killed me."

Kenny grins, "Living the dream." he flipped his golden hair to the side of his face as it continually falls in his face he holds the controller up and aims his gun at another player's face. Bullets shoot from the gun and the other player's head blows clean off, "Woo hoo," he cheers gleefully.

I munch contentedly on my pizza as we watch Kenny and Cartman play video games. Death, gore, and blood loss was the trademark of this game and Kenny ate it up. I glance at Stan, he's flipping through his phone, biting his fingernails, looking the same anxious mess he always seems to be. I nudge him.

His round eyes stare at me with curiosity, ready to answer whatever I'm about to ask him, "You okay?" I whisper. He nods. I can tell he's lying, but what am I going to do with Kenny and Cartman here? I grimace and turn back to the TV. I head to the kitchen, stretching my legs from my frog-like position I was previously in. I arch my back and meander to the kitchen, carrying my styrofoam plate. I place it on the counter and open up the fridge, ready to scrounge for more food when I hear footsteps behind me. I twist my head and see Stan making his way into the room.

"What's up?"

"Um," His eyes shift nervously, "I think I'm going home, Kyle."

I raise an eyebrow, "Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine," he grins weakly. I scowl. He aggravates me when he lies to me, but I know I should let him leave.

"Whatever," I breathe out.

…

For some reason, which is glaringly obvious, Kenny hangs around my house for a long time, unwilling to return home. I can't say I blame him and I don't mind the company. I know he's grown to hate his home, with his alcoholic parents and multitude of brothers and sisters and alternate family of rats. He eats the pizza ravenously and then we move on to ramen noodles. We eat happily and watch Netflix.

"Hey," Kenny frowns suddenly, "Is something up with Stan?"

"Oh," I pause, surprised that Kenny had noticed. But why wouldn't he? We've all been friends so long, "I'm not sure, he's been acting pretty off lately."

Kenny nods, "I'd watch out for him, man."

I bite my lip, thinking what I should be watching out for.

"Anyways," he says, "I'll be heading out. One more thing though, Kyle."

I glance up, Kenny's lips on mine for a split second, before he pulls away and breaks eye contact. My eyes are wide, and I'm dumbfounded.

"Kyle, I like you. A lot. And I want you. Let me know your answer."

And then he's sliding out the door into the frosty mountain air. I can't say what I expected, but this was not close to it at all.

"What the fuck."

STAN

I don't know why but everything is heavy and I'm exhausted. I don't want to feel this way about Kyle anymore. I stare at my phone. The bright light assaults my eyes in the dark of my room. Kyle's name is on the screen. I want to text him so bad. I want to tell him everything. But I'm stronger than that. I know better than that. So I throw it hard across the room and place my head in my hands. I'm so tired. I'm so tired. I'm so tired.

But I can't sleep. I don't know if I can sleep again for years. Or maybe I can and I will sleep for years.

_Bloop._

My head swivels and I jump off the bed to retrieve my phone and make sure I didn't break it. 'Kyle Text Message'. My face lights up.

Kyle (8:23 PM): Dude. Kenny just kissed me.

I read it. I read it again. And again. Everything wells up inside me. How could he do this? How could this happen? This time. I can't handle it. I run into my bathroom and shut the door, locking it. I don't know what to do with myself. My best friends kissing. The love of my life. With someone else. I bang my head on the door. There's nothing to fix what is wrong.

I slide down against the wall and close my eyes.

…

"Hiya, Stan!"

"Hey, Bebe," I murmur.

Bebe chats warmly to me. I'm not listening. Only partially. I hear the ends of her sentences which all have an obnoxious upward inflection. I flip my phone around, a long crack is on the front now from where I threw it. We're in Spanish II.

"_Solo_ _español_," the teacher scolds.

Bebe flashes an award winning smile and apologizes in choppy, broken Spanish.

The teacher walks away to go bother some other students.

"_Any_ways, Stan, do you wanna come over this weekend?" she asks, flashing me that same smile.  
>I am somewhat surprised by the invitation, but I can't think of a single reason to refuse so I nod, "Sure."<p>

She chatters for the rest of the class, seemingly pleased with herself. I wonder if I'll be the only one there or if it's a party or something of the sort. I wasn't really listening so now I don't know what to expect. It doesn't bother me for too long though because the bell interrupts my thoughts and I trudge off to my locker.

"Stan!" a voice from behind me shouts. It's the last person I want to see (shockingly, not Cartman).

"Oh hey Kyle," I reply monotonously.

He raises an eyebrow, but says nothing more, "Wanna hang out this weekend? I have concert tickets to-"

"I can't," I shut my locker door, "I'm busy." I didn't mean to sound like such a prick - I can tell Kyle is hurt. Maybe this is for the best though.

"But, dude, it's Say Anything!"

"I'm hanging out with Bebe I can't cancel."

His face grows sour and I know I've thoroughly pissed him off, "Guess I'll take someone else."

A sharp pang bubbles in my chest. Kenny. What if he takes Kenny? It would be their first date. I feel tears stinging my eyes and I head straight out the doors of the school. Fortunately for me, South Park High doesn't have the best security. I leave directly through the front doors without being noticed.

I walk home, kicking up snow with my feet. The tears fall down and I sniffle. Kyle is going to end up with Kenny. He might not be gay but we all knew that Kenny could persuade anyone; he was endlessly charming. I start to run. I don't want to stop. My feet pound hard against the ground, and I close my eyes tight. I don't want to be here. I could run across the street just as a car comes. Everything could stop. I could stop feeling this way.

I open my eyes. I can't go home like this. Stark's Pond is the only safe place for me right now. My and Kyle's childhood, where we used to sit and throw rocks and talk about everything—from school to the meaning of life. We were so young then. How could I have known life would end up like this? If I had known—no, I did know. But I was happier then. I used to like liking life a whole lot more than hating it. But not anymore. I am weak. Brittle. Broken. I cannot stand even for myself, let alone anyone else. I can only seek the solace of isolation and the comfort of sleep. When you're asleep, you won't feel any pain anymore.

KYLE

Lunch isn't much to look at: meatloaf, canned corn, and a childish juice box. I mindlessly chew on my fork, thinking about Stan's earlier behavior. What the fuck was wrong with him recently? I shake my head.

Cartman plops his obese body down next to me. He begins to chow down. Following him are Butters, Clyde, and Kenny. Anxiety grips me. I'm tempted to get up and leave, but that'll look suspicious. I continue to curdle in a pool of my own nerves.

"You going to Bebe's this weekend too, Kyle?" Clyde asks.

"Oh hell yeah," Kenny interrupts, "she'll put out for anyone."

"Haven't you already fucked her like three times, Kinny?" Cartman asks.

He grins mischievously in response. God, this boy confuses me.

"What's going on at Bebe's, fellas?" Butters is too innocent for his own good. Some things never change.

"A party. You should come, Butters," I offer kindly. The others can be so harsh on him. I feel guilty not preserving his gentle nature.

"Oh boy!"

Clyde snickers, "Maybe you'll finally lose your virginity," he smirks.

"Yeah, to you, faggot," Cartman interjects.

"Shut the fuck up you stupid piece of shit," Clyde growls. He's seemingly furious, but this is the norm with this group. They thrive on calling each other gay, fat, and stupid. It's a simple way of living, I think, laughing inwardly.

I'm distracted from their fighting though to stop and look around for Stan. Where's he gone to?

"Have you seen Stan?" I ask.

"Looking for your girlfriend, Kahl?" Cartman asks snarkily.

I glare. After what Stan told me this hits a sensitive spot, "Shut the hell up you retard I'm fucking serious," I snap.

The seriousness in my voice catches everyone off guard.

"Jeez Kyle," Clyde remarks.

…

I turn the keys in the ignition.

Kyle (12:37 PM): Where are you?

Kyle (1:45 PM): Wtf  
>Kyle (2:15 PM): Are you okay?<p>

Kyle (3:30 PM): I'm done with you ignoring me.

I stare at my messages. I'm beyond aggravated, but also sick with worry. What if he's not okay?

I'm driving to his house automatically, ready to either cry or yell. Nothing in between will do when my emotions are running this high. Part of me, some quiet but audible part, is telling me something's not okay and I need to be there for him. By the time I reach his house I'm sweating, on the verge of panic attack. My anxiety has never been this high. I just need to make sure he's okay, need to make sure my best friend is safe.

I knock, but I don't have time to wait for his mom to answer the door, so I push my way in and dart up the stairs. I knock on Stan's door but there's no answer.

"Stan!"

"Kyle?" It's Sharon, "Is everything alright?"

"Have you seen Stan?"

"He hasn't gotten home from school yet," she eyes me, startled by my fearful appearance.

"Uh, thanks, Mrs. Marsh," I say as I push open the door. Stan's room is dark, the curtains are pulled and the floor is littered with clothes and crumpled papers. I walk in slowly and cautiously as though it is the scene of a crime. It doesn't feel right, it doesn't feel like the old Stan, the middle school Stan who played football and would spend hours on the phone with me and wanted to start his own band. None of it felt like _Stan_ anymore.

I sit on the unmade bed, and pick up a nearby paper. It's an incomplete page of algebra homework. I frown. Something about it is particularly sad, which I can't put my finger on until I flip it over and see that he has drawn harsh lines across the remaining problems. "FAILURE" is scribbled over all of them. I sigh and drop it back on the floor, reluctantly I lay down and close my eyes until Stan returns.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Listening to Macklemore does NOT make you gay.

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><p>STAN<p>

The door creaks open and I enter the dark, dank room. On my bed, I see bright red hair, and I hear soft snoring. I smile gently, and make my way to the bed. I pull a cover up over Kyle, curled into himself as small as possible.

"Kyle," I whisper. He groans and stiffens his body. I pull myself onto the bed and curl into a ball next to Stan. I watch him, his body moving up and down with each breath and his eyes lightly shut. He looks stunning. He is an angel. I could lay here for years just watching him. Kyle interrupts my thoughts when his eyes flutter open, "S… Stan?" he mumbles in his confused state.

I smile, my eyes crinkling as I stare at this beautiful person in front of me; for a second, everything is gentle and slow. I imagine us in the future, waking up side by side every day. He rubs his heavy eyes, "Are you okay?"

I nod slowly, "I'm fine, Kyle. Everything's okay," I pull myself closer to him, until our faces are just inches apart and I stare into his bright green eyes. I want to exist in this moment.

"No," he pushes himself up, suddenly becoming aware of his surroundings. I am flushed with embarrassment; I can't believe I got so caught up in the moment that I would indicate my romantic feelings to Kyle. I can only hope he hasn't noticed, "You fucking disappeared. I was worried sick," he scowls.

"I'm- I'm sorry, Kyle-"

He jumps up, off the bed, "No, you've been ignoring me and acting like I don't understand anything that's been going on. I'm your best friend, Stan, I understand when you're upset. Stop pushing me away and acting like I'm some fucking idiot-"

That's so bullshit. All I did was go to Stark's pond, "What? Just because I don't answer your texts two times. Jesus Christ, calm down. You act like you understand everything but you've never had a hard time in your goddamn life!"

"Are you fucking kidding me? You think you're so special for having depression and that you're so different and better than everyone-"

"I don't think that! I don't think that!" I'm screaming. I can't believe he would say that to me after everything I've been through. I kick angrily and knock my nightstand where a book becomes dislodged from its resting place. It teeters on the edge of the table before falling to the ground. Shit. I forgot I had hidden stuff under the book.

"Stan?" Kyle stops. His voice isn't angry anymore, just concerned.

He's looking at razors I had haphazardly thrown the book over to hide. There are three, covered in blood, lying there.

I move backwards, away from Kyle, away from the questions. I hit a wall and let myself fall down and cover my face in my knees.

He's next to me, his hands on mine, then moving down my arms, "No-" I protest, but it's too late; he's pushed up my sleeves. He can see them, all of them, covering my light skin.

Tears push their way out of my eyes, I'm sobbing. Kyle unearthed my secret and he was just staring blankly at me like he couldn't believe it.

Warmth encircles me. A body is on top of me, hugging me, enclosing me in its grasp, "Stan…" he murmurs, "Why?"

I just shake my head. I'm crying into my hands and I don't want him to know. He doesn't say anything else, simply holding me in his safe grasp. I loosen my arms, pretending not to cry. I'm not even holding up behind this wall of my hands, what's the point? I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his shoulder. I dig myself into his shirt and hide in the safety of his warmth, "K… Kyle…" is all I can manage.

He tightens his grip around me, "Shh, it's okay. It's okay," his voice is so even and comforting.

I'm not sure how long I sat there crying, all I know is I'm exhausted as I pull myself onto my bed and close my eyes. I rest my head on my pillow and pull a knee up close to my chest. Kyle covers me in blankets. He then walks over to my bedside table and-

"What are you doing?" I demand, sitting straight up.

He looks at me, eyes squinted, "Throwing these away," he replies, picking up the razors.

"Stop, stop! Those are mine!"

"You're not going to keep doing this, are you?"

I stare at him blankly.

"Stan, you have to stop," the edge to his voice disappears, and I can see the uneasiness in his innocent green eyes, "Please."

Tears pop up in my eyes. I want to, I want to tell him I'm done, and I won't do it anymore now that he is here for me, that I'm sorry for causing him grief, but I can't bring myself to do it. I can't lie to my best friend.

"I'm sorry, Kyle."

KYLE

My bed isn't comforting and my room is too cold for me. I attempt to bury myself beneath the blankets, but I can still feel the crisp coolness penetrating the covers. I breathe in slowly. I can't remember the last time I ate, and I'm starving. But it's hard to eat when you're nauseous with anxiety.

A shrill call sounds from downstairs, "Kyle!" Ugh. I roll over and try to dig my way deeper into the bed. "Kyyyle!" Her voice is so screeching I can't say that I entirely blame Cartman for making fun of her. I finally climb out of bed in my boxers and T-shirt and stumble downstairs. My mother is waiting at the bottom of the staircase, "Kyle, your little friend is here," I swear to God I could be thirty years old and my mom would still call them my 'little friends.'

"Hi," I look behind my mother into the kitchen. Shit.

"Uh, hey, Kenny. Let me get dressed," I say, turning around and sprinting up the stairs. I throw on some jeans and my old boots. I pull on my hat to cover my unruly hair and look in the mirror. Okay. No big deal. It's just Kenny.

I turn back around and make my way downstairs, Kenny is sitting in the kitchen making small talk with my mom.

Kenny chuckles, "No, I don't get cold that easily, Mrs. Broflovski."

"You used to wear that parka though," she replies, moving about the kitchen, putting away pots and pans, "you looked like a little eskimo, you did."

I'm about to announce my presence when Kenny slides around on his chair, "Hey. You look nice. I was wondering if you'd want to go out to eat."

Eat? Can Kenny afford that? "Um, sure." Going out to eat on a Friday night. I hope no one sees us. I mean, people do talk.

I walk outside, awkwardly next to Kenny. Despite the fact that we have been friends since preschool I can't really figure out how to make conversation. Um, school? Home life? TV? Ugh, I can't remember how to talk.

Although I'm a nervous mess, Kenny is cool as ever, unperturbed by what had happened and seemingly enjoying my anxiety.

We hop in the car, Kenny pulls on his seatbelt and I put my hands on the wheel. I'm sweating and I move my hands back and forth on it, "So. Where to?"

Kenny smiles, "Any restaurant you want, Kyle. It's on me."

I look at him, shocked, forgetting to hide such a rude implication. My jaw drops like I'm about to protest, but then I realize I should keep quiet. I blush and turn back forward, gripping the wheel once more. He just laughs warmly. I glance at him sideways and see that his brown eyes are resting on me attentively.

"Well, uh. Maybe, The Pizza Grille?" It's close enough that I won't have to freak out about the quiet in the car.

"Hm, I was thinking somewhere fancier."

"Uh. I'm- you know. Not really dressed for that."

He tosses his hands upwards, "Who cares, Kyle? Live a little."

How did Kenny get to be so calm and smooth, I wonder to myself, "Well, uh, Bennigan's?" I bite my lip and turn red, realizing I probably named a restaurant that was far too fancy and expensive for either of our tastes.

"Perfect," Kenny says. A wave of relief washes over me. I drive us there, not talking just listening to the sounds of the radio. The newest pop sensations whiny voices drone on and a headache begins to form. Ack.

We reach Bennigan's. Kenny opens the door for me, asks for a table for two, and pulls out my chair. Well, fuck. He thinks this is a date.

I flip my menu, glad to have a distraction. Our drinks come and we order. Okay great, now there's nothing to distract either of us, although Kenny doesn't seem to mind.

"Kyle," he begins.

"Wait, Kenny. I uh. Look, I'm not gay," I look down at the table, suddenly engrossed the grain of the wood. I bite my lip. Kenny is going to be angry. He already offered to pay and come here with me and why didn't I say anything sooner? He's going to-

"Neither am I," he replies coolly, not a hint of anger in his voice, "but for some reason, I can't stop thinking about you, Kyle," he grins at me, his lopsided, warm grin. For the first time this evening I see the old Kenny appear. He's the most genuine person I've ever met. Kenny is being honest with me-he's trying to set aside his nymphomania for me, to show me that he really wants this.

I can't help but smile and sigh, "I don't know Kenny. I mean, I've never even dated a girl before,"

"Just give it a try," he urges, "I mean, I haven't dated a guy before. Really Kyle, it's not that big of a deal though. I like you a lot and I want to try this, it's as simple as that."

I pause for a second, not sure what to say. I guess… I guess the main reason I don't want to date Kenny is because of what other people will say. I've never really thought about dating a guy before. And what's wrong with Kenny honestly? He's charming, nice, and thoughtful. I'm not that into sex in general so why not try dating a guy? "But-"

"But what," Kenny interjects, "I can't think of a single reason not to."

I try to. I really do, but I can't think of any reason not to date Kenny either, "we don't have to tell people, do we?"

Kenny grins broadly, "Hell no, not if you don't want to. I don't care either way," Kenny's smiling stupidly. He's so honest, and I guess I like that about him. I feel a rush of energy, like I'm doing something dangerous and new. I hate to admit it, but I'm feeling excited for the first time in a while.

On the way back, Kenny makes me listen to a song in the car. It's not very appropriate, but he nods his head to the beat and sings along off-key.

If I die and go to hell real soon,

it will appear to me as this room.

And for eternity I'd lay in bed

in my boxers, half stoned,

with the pillow under my head.

Kenny laughs at the end and bangs his foot on the floor, "My life," is all he says. He turns to me and begins gushing about the band, like he doesn't know I already know of it. It's nice to see him so passionate about it though.

"He's a sexy Jewish guy like you," he pokes me in the shoulder and cracks up.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.

He doesn't answer and keeps laughing to himself until the next song on his iPod comes on-Same Love by Macklemore. Kenny's eyes widen and he pulls it out of the AUX cord almost instantaneously.

It's my turn to laugh, "What were you saying about not being gay?"

"Shut the fuck up, dude," he replies, grinning at me. It's good to see Kenny being himself again. He was only acting so formal because he was also nervous. So that's how he tries to hide it. I smile to myself.

"What are you smiling about, creep?" he asks, "You know how creepy it is to just smile like that?" Kenny harasses me.

I pull up to his trailer to drop him off. He opens the door, but turns back quickly, his lips landing on mine. He nudges my lips with his own for only a second before turning around and casually hopping out of the car, "Bye, Kyle," he grins, winking to me.

"Bye, Kenny."

STAN

After what happened yesterday, I can't help but feel happier than usual. I could almost pretend like Kyle might like me too. But I know better. In middle school, I used to allow myself to think Kyle had feelings for me too. I came so close to telling him. A confession like that would tear apart our friendship.

But Kyle had looked at me with such love. It got to me. When he saw the cuts decorating my arms, he gave me such a sympathetic, caring gaze that I broke down. I know Kyle hadn't wanted me to keep secrets from him. I let him take the razors. And though I might try not to cut for a little, I knew that I wouldn't be able to permanently quit. I was sorry for him, because I knew I would hide it again and again. I would lie every time.

Bloop.

Kyle (9:45 PM): You need me to pick you up for Bebe's tomorrow?

I type quickly back.

Stan (9:45 PM): Yeah thanks. Is it a party?

Kyle (9:46 PM): Yep

Taking a deep breath, I pad down the stairs and into the living room. Shelly is sitting on the couch.

"You hear the news yet?" she barks. Why does everything she says come out like an insult?

"What news?"

She snorts, "Sharon and Randy finished the divorce."

"Wh- What?"

She rolls her eyes and returns her full attention to the TV. She calls Mom and Dad 'Sharon and Randy' now. I guess to demonstrate her estrangement from them. I run back upstairs and into their room.

"Mom?" She's shuffling through a drawer and a black suitcase lies in the middle of the floor, filled with her clothes.

She turns to look at me, one eye black, the other filled with tears, "Stanley," she whispers, "I'm so sorry."

I run towards her and throw my arms around her. I love her and I know this is what's best for her. She doesn't have a job, so the court ruled for our father to keep custody. I just don't want to be left here with him. "Stan, I'll find a way to take you with me," she assures, wrapping her arms around me, "I promise."

"It's okay, Mom. Just-be safe please," I tell her. It's not okay. I'm left here with my abusive father. But my mom was getting away, and she wouldn't have to face it anymore. I was glad for that.

"Stan," she murmurs, looking up at me and pushing aside my dark hair to better see my eyes, "Remember when you were little and you wanted to be a superhero? And you fought evil and protected me? You've always protected me, Stanley. And you can get through this and I love you. Please don't give up," she kisses my cheek and squeezes my hands.

...

"STAN!" He's drunk. "Stan, you get down here right now," Screaming.

I lock my door and push my back against it. Where am I safe? Where will I ever be? I inhale slowly then turn and unlock my door. I know that it will just make things worse to ignore him. I walk as slowly as I can before reaching the kitchen. Dad's shifting through the fridge, looking for another beer can. He notices me, "Where's your mother?" he demands.

Great, I get to be the bearer of bad news, "She left."

"Left? Left to go where?"

"She's gone. She moved out. The divorce is finalized."

Whap.

My cheek is stinging. I close my eyes tightly and rub my face where the blow landed. "You fucking let her leave?" he growls. "Where is she? Where did she go?"

"I don't know," I try to remain level. Not to scream or cry. Because I know either will just encourage him. He glares darkly.

"Get me a beer, Stan."

I glance in the fridge and then hurry into the garage to grab another. But there are no more. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Uh, Dad, there's no more."

His head spins and he is ready to fight; I can tell from the look in his eyes. This is one of the worst things that can happen while he is in a rage. He moves in closer to me, spitting in my face and growling, "Well then. Go. Get. Me. More." I want to cry. How am I supposed to do that? I'm sixteen. Not anywhere near old enough to buy alcohol.

"I- I can't," a tear escapes. I know I'm about to be feeling a lot of pain. The first punch lands squarely on my nose. I'm bleeding profusely, and I grab my face and take a step backwards, "Please stop," I'm crying. I can't help myself. A kick to my ankle, and I'm on the floor. His feet are flying at me. I'm in so much pain. I curl myself into a ball and try to hide from him, but nothing will make him relent. I'm not safe. I'm never safe.


End file.
